Empty bottles. Labels halfway peeled off. Caps tossed in a trashcan. Christian Brothers a quarter full. Swallows of Wild Turkey, and beer cans with cigarette butts in them; swimming in a little bit of Old Style.

Posters adorn the cracked walls. Snapshots of women he’d been with. Blondes, redheads, Maggie was a brunette. A woman he never loved. Just the bearer of his children. Did he love them? He loved Billy. Kept a picture of him, too. Right there on a milk crate, he used it as a nightstand next to a cheap watch and a beer bottle filled with dimes and nickels. Never counted them. Just kept adding to the collection.

The television was on. A small black and white. He was watching channel 11. Some news program with a fat man interviewing a round table of politicians. The fat man acted like he knew all the answers to the questions he asked.  Chicago’s best and brightest played along.

Lying in the dark with the hotdog sign shining in his window, William laughed. He laughed at the television show. He laughed about his living conditions. And he laughed about leaving his family behind. They’ll make out OK, he whispered. They’ll all be fine.